


Wrists of Worry, Fists of Fury

by rebelwriter6561



Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Movieverse)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Soulmate AU, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, eventually, good ending, pain and suffering
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-22
Updated: 2017-06-06
Packaged: 2018-10-22 10:37:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,942
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10695285
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rebelwriter6561/pseuds/rebelwriter6561
Summary: Your soulmate's first words to you appear on your wrist when you turn thirteen. But what if those words aren't exactly welcoming?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> *wanders back into this ship with a sign that says "I aren't dead" around my neck* Sup y'all
> 
> Soulmate AUs are fun.

It was his birthday. _The_ birthday. The one where he found out what his soulmate’s first words to him would be.

Warren knew he should be ecstatic, or at least relieved. This was the other half of his soul, after all. But any joy he felt was covered with a heavy layer of pessimism. His father's _opinions_ about that sort of thing ‒ and his own distrust of the whole “love you eternally because they're the other half of your soul” thing ‒ made it hard to get excited about.

He did want someone. In his wildest dreams, the ones he didn't like having because they were so impossible that they'd never come true, he did have a soulmate. One who never got tired of him, or hated the battered stumps of wing that always, stubbornly, grew back. They would be everything the romance books and movies said they'd be ‒ perfect, and just for him. They’d actually love him. But after seeing his words, he knew it would never happen like that.

His birthdays also weren't worth looking forward to any more. He hadn't had a proper party since he grew his wings. They hadn't even really celebrated since he lost his mother.

Warren tried to be as small as possible as he stepped into the sunroom, hoping his arrival would go unnoticed. It was hard to accomplish these days ‒ it seemed every morning he woke up and there were more muscles in his arm and chest. It stopped hurting to hold his wings up and flex them. If they ever healed enough to grow feathers, he was sure he could fly.

But there was no time to think about that as his father looked up from his newspaper and smiled thinly at him. “Happy birthday, son,” he said as he folded his paper. “Well, let's see it.”

Warren shuffled forward. He presented his left arm, hand curled in a fist. He'd already memorized the words. Seeing it first thing in the morning, under the bright morning sun, seared the image into his brain, as unforgettable as his name. The memory would forever be spoiled, though, by the feeling of his heart sinking at the words themselves.

Just as he expected, his father took in his soulmate’s first words to him and smirked. “Wonder what they're apologizing for, hmm?” He turned away and picked up his fork with a snort. “I wouldn't worry about it, son. Soulmates are for the lower class, something to keep them happy in their miserable lives. They don't mean anything. You know your mother and I weren't soulmates.”

“I know,” Warren said hollowly. He took a seat and stared at his plate, not feeling hungry like he usually always was. Even the bare stumps of his wings barely hurt, although he knew from the sharpness in his bones that they'd be growing again soon. They always grew back faster each time the surgeons cut them back.

He tried to shake off the glum feeling that settled over his shoulders. Why was he mourning someone he'd never met, possibly never would meet, who's first response to their meeting would be to apologize? His soulmate, whoever they were, wouldn't want a broken-up mutant like him anyway. That was probably what they were apologizing for ‒ they would probably take one look at him and back away, shaking their heads, saying _I'm sorry, I'm sorry you're not what I want_. 

What was on their wrists? Did they already have Warren's words on their wrists? Was it a response to the apology? Or worse, was it the cause of the apology? What if it wasn't his appearance that caused this words, but his actions? He couldn't help the way he looked, no matter how hard his father tried, but his future actions and words were set in skin. Waiting for him to ruin everything. Just think about it made his chest ache.

He had teared up when he'd seen the words. His mother had told him, long ago, that his soulmate would always love him, even if they never met, because they were meant to be the other half of his soul. But how could they be happy together when they were destined to be off to such a bad start?

Who would want a soulmate like him?

Under the table Warren grasped his left wrist with his right hand. He rubbed the _I'm sorry_ set into his wrist softly with his thumb. He could feel the thud of his heartbeat against his skin. Could his soulmate feel it too? Would they still be sorry if they knew how much Warren already missed them?

~*~

“Kurt? What is that?”

Tangled in his clothes, Kurt grunted questioningly. He'd pulled the wrong shirt from his chest, and it was one that no longer fit him after his growth spurt. Of course, he hadn't realized it until it was over his head.

“This?” Stefan's hand grabbed his, pulling him down so he bent in half. “It's...Kurt it's a word! It's your word!” 

“What?!” Kurt yelped, struggling harder. He barely heard the rips of the seams over his thudding heart. His word was waiting. He would know his soulmate. Twisting and turning, his tail got under his foot and sent him thudding to the floor. Excitement practically choking him, he finally freed his head and whipped the shirt off his arm.

Stefan was bouncing in place, infectious grin on his face. “This means you're thirteen, too. We finally know your birthday!”

Kurt ignored that, twisting his wrist to try to read the word. It was red at least, like everyone else's, unaffected by his skin tone and untouched by the carvings on his skin. It was a blessing, but even squinting at the lines didn't make it any clearer. “I can't read it.”

Stefan stopped bouncing and stuck his head next to Kurt's. “I don't know either.” He glumly looked up at his adopted brother. “It's not German is it?”

Shaking his head, Kurt lurched to his feet and exited the tent. The cool morning air already tasted like the hot summer day it would later become, but the grass was freezing on his toes. He cradled his wrist, like the words would fall off if he wasn't careful.

Stefan ran in circles around him. “Maybe it's American. Some American girl says it to you, then you can go to America and live in a mansion and eat candy all day. She probably won't even care that you're blue.”

“Knock it off,” Kurt muttered, flicking his tail at the younger boy. “Go see if Mama's up.” Stefan stuck his tongue out at him, but vanished in the folds of their mother's tent.

Sighing, Kurt crouched down, feeling cold. Was Stefan right? He'd never thought about it before, but the idea that his soulmate wouldn't like how he looked battered at his thoughts. Soulmates were supposed to love you, but what if his was afraid of how he looked? What if they hated mutants?

He didn't have long to think about it. His mama pushed her way out of the tent, hair loose around her shoulders. “Let's see,” she gestured, and Kurt stood to put his wrist in her hands. She pulled him close to press a kiss to his forehead. “Happy birthday, my little squirrel,” she sighed happily. “I've been off by a few days all this time, but we won't worry about that, right?”

“Of course, Mama.” It was more like a few weeks ‒ they'd always celebrated his birthday as the day he was found, and that wasn't for another month. Kurt pushed the question of time out of his mind when his mama’s fingers pressed against the word.

“Do you know what it says?” Stefan was bouncing next to them, trying to get another look, as if the word had changed since he last look. Their sister lingered in the tents entrance.

“Well,” his mother spoke slowly, “it's not German. English, certainly.”

“You are going to America!” Stefan cried, spinning in a circle with his arms over his head. Kurt had to grin at his infectious excitement.

“They speak English all over the world, child. Don't make guesses.” Mama blinked up at Kurt. “We’ll have to get you lessons, either way. This will be your first.” 

“Do you know what it says?” Kurt tensed, tail swinging in the air. Why wouldn't she say?

“It means ‘fight.’” She sighed heavily. “Of course, there's many ways to interpret that, but that's‒”

“Why does my soulmate want me to fight?” Kurt squeaked in alarm. He yanked his arm back, curling it against his chest, fear clutching his insides. What happened during their first meeting?

“Now, now. Settle down.” His mother's arm wrapped around him, pulling him tight to her side. He was much taller than her now, but leaned against her anyway. “These things are tricky. We don't always know our soulmate at the first meeting.”

“I thought this was supposed to make it clear.” Kurt said shakily. If this was his word, what in the world would be written on his soulmate’s wrist? His heart lurched for them. What if they were feeling the same worry, over an event that hadn't even happened yet?

He wanted to comfort them, assure them that he loved them, no matter what happened.

“Listen, my darling.” His mother took his wrist again, very gently. “God put these words here for us, but we're the ones who must find the answers. You trust that all will be right, yes?” 

“Of course,” Kurt admitted. He stared at his word, wishing it had answers, rather than raising more questions. But it was there, as permanent as his blue skin. It was meant to be.

He sighed happily. He'd been waiting for this day, dreaming of meeting the love of his life and the bond that they shared. He brought his wrist up to his lips and gently pressed his lips to the word. If his soulmate wanted him to fight, he would. He would fight for them.


	2. Chapter 2

Nothing went better with pain and misery than alcohol. As soon as he was free from the cage he had gone looking for some. He needed it. It was called self-medicating, and was perfectly healthy. Warren considered the clear glass bottles that accompanied him on the warehouse beam. Most of them were sadly empty.

At least his wing didn't hurt anymore.

It was bullshit. Stone cold bullshit. Some skinny little blue kid shouldn't have been able to fling him around like that. Warren remembered thinking, in the split second before he crashed into the electric fence, that he had royally fucked up. Then his head was full of nothing but rage. He wanted to tear that cowering mutant punk apart, dig his wing claws into his ribs and rip him apart. But he chose to escape instead.

And that decision was biting him in the ass. Because he realized much later, deep in a bottle of vodka, that the kid had apologized for throwing him into the wall. Which was really stupid, but it mattered.

“ _Fuck_ ,” he muttered with feeling, for the hundredth time. It figured that his first meeting with his soulmate had gone so spectacularly wrong. He'd known since his word first appeared that their first meeting would be bad. But what had actually happened surpassed all of his expectations.

He glared at the words on his wrist. Damn destiny. It figured that his soulmate would be the one to kick his ass. The universe clearly had nothing nice in store for him.

At least the blue boy was a mutant too. But he was a teleporter, too. Which meant he could be literally anywhere. If Warren ever wanted to track him down, he wouldn't have a chance.

The kid probably didn't want to see him again anyway. Warren had tried to kill him. He'd challenged him to battle ‒ that must be on Nightcrawler’s wrist, which was somehow worse than Warren's. There was no recognition on the other boy's face when he'd said it.

And he'd gotten his ass kicked. He was still pissed about that. The sadness he felt in his chest turned back to rage.

His wing was ruined. Warren hadn't dared investigate, but he could feel the near-dead weight of it. It'd taken a lot of booze to numb the pain. He wouldn't be able to fly until it healed. He was practically useless.

He had nothing. The cage and fighting ring had been bad, but it was a roof over his head. He had food and no one fucked with him. Now he was out, he was injured, and he lost his one chance to have his soulmate. Drinking was appropriate.

He was ripped from his drunken musings by the appearance of Apocalypse. Now he had power. He had his wings. He had a purpose. He joined them because there was no other option that made sense.

Apocalypse had given him armor that matched his wings. His hand hovered over Warren's wrist. “Ah,” he breathed quietly. “Still searching for your other half.” 

Warren's heart jumped his his throat. “Can you find them?” he tried not to put any hope in his voice. But if he was working for his god, then surely he'd let his soulmate join too.

The look Apocalypse gave him was practically withering. “You are strong, my son,” he said firmly. “You do not need such a weakness. That's all that these words are ‒ false hope. A weak trick. You will be a king in the new world, not chained to some _weak_ apologist.”

From the corner of his eye, Warren caught Storm and Psylock exchange looks. The armor continued down his arm, covering his words.

“If they survive what is to come, and are willing to follow my rule, I have no doubt that you will have your soulmate.” Apocalypse’s words were sickly-sweet, and Warren nodded weakly as his god's hands drifted to his head. His soulmate _was_ strong. He'd kicked his ass after all.

With his god's help, Warren would find him again. 

~*~

“Hold me in the light of God,” Kurt murmured. His words were barely audible over the sound of the helicopter. He didn't know where they were going, Mystique and the others were still asleep on the floor, and Scott and Jean were curled up around each other. He didn't have anyone.

Except he did. Kurt's heart thudded painfully when he thought of the angel from the ring. He was his soulmate, and Kurt hadn't even recognized him.

How could he not recognize him?

Everything Kurt had expected for their first meeting turned out to be wrong. He hadn't wanted to fight for his life against his soulmate. He hadn't wanted to hurt him. His soulmate probably thought he was the worst person in the world, and that hurt to think about just as much as remembering how much he hurt him.

The look on his soulmate’s face, the burning anger and the alarming coldness after Kurt injured him, haunted him. He needed to find him, take care of him. He wanted to apologize. It wasn't enough in the ring, he needed to make amends, beg forgiveness. Even if he didn't deserve such a thing. 

His poor angel was out there alone, injured, and Kurt was trapped in a helicopter. Something was going on, something big, he had no way of knowing what. But the school was destroyed and Scott’s brother was gone, and the professor was missing and the teachers incapacitated. It was all going so terribly wrong and all he could think of was his soulmate.

“You'll find them.” Jean's voice was only just audible over the engine, but Kurt lifted his head at her words. She was looking off into space, lost in thought and her powers. “You'll see him again.”

“How do you know?” it was beyond impossible ‒ Kurt was a continent away at least, and getting further all the time. He would have gone back to Germany, but he didn't know where to look.

“We can find him. The Professor has ‒ had ‒ a computer he could find mutants with. From all over the world. When this is over, and we rebuild, we can find your soulmate.” Jean spoke so confidently that a flower of hope bloomed in Kurt's chest. He could find his angel.

Scott raised his head. “You know who he is?” Scott asked. Kurt bit his lip, eyes flicking away. He didn't want to tell them how their first meeting had actually gone.

“We met once. By the time I realized who he was I was too late and too far away.”

“How did you not‒” Jean cut off Scott before he could get the obvious question out.

“From what I can tell, Kurt's soulmate didn't know either. They were both kind of...caught up.” Kurt smiled thankfully at her discretion. He didn't want to think about what Scott would say if he really knew.

The other boy was quiet for a second before grinning quickly. “Sounds like he's thick. He should get along with the rest of us non-geniuses.” He nudged Jean, and even if it was a mean joke, she smiled. So did Kurt. The mood in the cramped space lifted.

Kurt sighed as he folded his hands again. He would see his angel again. He would hug him and apologize a million times until he chased the angry frown off his face. They were soulmates after all. Kurt already loved him, even after what happened.

But he had to help his friends. They had a job to do. Only then could Kurt find his soulmate.


End file.
